


this life's made of light

by shadhahvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Canon Compliant, Christmas Tree, Crying Victor Nikiforov, Happy Birthday Victor Nikiforov, Healing, Hugs, Injury Recovery, Loss, Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Sad and Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 23:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: Victor's turning thirty, and Yuri brainstorms a way to celebrate after having his plans thrown out the window by an unexpected injury that keeps him off the ice. Sometimes showing someone your love means taking chances.





	this life's made of light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [berrymary92](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=berrymary92).



> This is part of the [Victor's 30th Birthday](https://twitter.com/BirthdayVictor) exchange over on Twitter! With a prompt of "Victor's birthday" and a SFW requirement, this is what I wrote for my giftee, [berrymary92](https://twitter.com/berrymary92).
> 
> Fair warning to all readers, this takes place after Makkachin has passed away.

Yuri Katsuki faced the evergreen he’d hauled into his living room with help from the upstairs neighbours and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he was doing. In the almost three years he’d known Victor, getting a tree was a first, one with the potential to fall flat on its face. Much like Yuri had when he first tried getting out of bed that morning only to slip on the shirt he’d discarded on the floor the night before. He’d been too frustrated and hot when the central heating in the flat kicked in late in the evening to do more than find an immediate solution and pass right out.

Victor was flying back in from Nationals where, for the first time, he hadn’t been attending as a competitor, but as a choreographer. Yuri watched the livestream on his computer, listening to the babble of the Russian commentators and understanding most of what they said before he tuned it out entirely to focus on what he was seeing. 

Mostly he looked for glimpses of Victor on the sidelines, standing taller than Yakov, expression varying from serious, to subdued, to intent. Yuri’s heart ached at the one camera angle that caught him laughing during Yuri Plisetsky’s warm-up session.

Yuri stared down at his ankle and muttered several unfavourable things about the nature of injuries and luck. Victor should have been with him, and they should have been in Japan, not still in Russia and separated by hundreds of kilometers. He’d never missed his own National Championships before, but the Japanese Skating Federation had discussed it with Yuri, his publicist, and doctors when he’d injured his ankle during the Grand Prix series, and the decision became final the moment Yuri inclined his head forward and accepted their advice. 

The JSF guaranteed him placement in their three submissions to Worlds that season as long as he was cleared to return to the ice. Yuri accepted it with poorly disguised frustration, and had been a focused, determined man ever since. His next evaluation was after the New Year, and he couldn’t wait. He’d finally managed to jog with his ankle taped for added support. Much as he wished he could press himself harder, faster, he was determined not to overdo it. He’d come to accept his slow progress toward feeling stronger every day.

He was also close to crawling out of his own skin for not being allowed on the ice for _weeks._ On Victor’s, and his medical team’s, orders.

Victor’s transition to full time coach came with a transition into officially taking on choreography requests, which explained why he was in Saransk watching both Yuri Plisetsky and Mila Babicheva skate. Victor choreographed Yuri’s free skate and Mila’s short program, following the revised scoring guidelines, and clearly appreciating the challenge, just as he did when it came to working with Yuri to choreograph both his programs.

He’d done double time as coach and fiance ever since, having to juggle the demands of one against the needs of the other. He wasn’t always good at it, but as much as he stumbled, so did Yuri, balancing between the frustration of a competitive skater and the frustration of a fiance. Learning when he needed support versus a firm taskmaster to remind him of what he couldn’t do. 

Victor bore up with the one-footed closed eyed toothbrushing mornings, leaving Yuri to stubbornly catch himself with a hand on the counter before falling. Then there was the one-legged jumping through the living area, the balance board sessions, the stubborn, measured walks along iced over sidewalks while the traffic droned by. He let Yuri cry out his frustration without holding him when Yuri needed his sense of space, then pulled him in for a hug that night and setting Yuri off all over again, Yuri clinging close that time, reassured by the weight of Victor’s arms around him. It wasn’t easy on either of them, and without Makkachin around, they only had each other to rely on.

Or be frustrated by. They navigated it day by day.

Victor, when he wasn’t at the rink, helped Yuri keep up with his home exercises and applied ice and heat to his ankle when he inevitably overdid it and was left swollen and in pain. He reminded Yuri to eat, made most of the meals until Yuri could walk without crutches around the flat, and coaxed him into baths in the claw-footed tub in their shared bathroom. 

He wasn’t a good patient, and Victor was a very patient man, almost to the point of frustrating Yuri and leaving him feeling guilty at the same time. He was grateful for everything Victor was, and everything Victor brought to his life, just as he knew Victor was grateful for everything Yuri was, and what Yuri brought to him. Yet with his emotions swirling so fast and agitated beneath his skin, he read all possible emotions in Victor’s each expression and gesture, or lashed out without thinking, redirecting his internal anguish outward.

Yuri had been learning how to apologise for what he didn’t mean, and how to accept Victor’s apologies when Victor’s patience _did_ fracture.

As December rolled on, he faced yet another personal frustration, unrelated to his skating woes. Without the driving force of Nationals to bring them both back to Japan early, all Yuri’s plans for Victor’s birthday had been abruptly turned on their head. Victor refused to celebrate it early, and he didn’t exactly celebrate Christmas in December, either, but Nationals was going to be in Osaka, and Yuri _knew_ the light displays there were meant to be incredible. 

He’d researched what would be running right after the end of Seniors in Nationals, had planned on giving Victor a gold medal and taking him around the city to sightsee, visit the Christmas Market, walk through at least two of the larger illumination displays. Made a reservation at a well reviewed restaurant to wine and dine him, aiming to sweep Victor up in his arms and spend all night showing how much he appreciated and loved him.

It had been romantic, wonderful, and a stomach-dropping kind of sweet, and Yuri had been looking forward to it as much as giving Victor his gold. Somehow that was the worst part of it, having those plans pulled out of reach, even more so than his time on the ice. He’d make up for that once he had clearance. Victor would only turn thirty once.

The fact he only turned any given age once was irrelevant. Thirty was starting another decade; thirty was a life change, formally out of competing and only professional instead of amateur; thirty and celebrating a birthday without his lifelong friend, Makkachin. Yuri wanted it to be better than the birthdays Victor mentioned in the past, the ones he shrugged off with a half smile or light laugh.

Which was why he stared down the evergreen now, a bundle of coloured LED lights on strands clutched in one hand. In theory, this was simple. He’d seen decorated lights on all kinds of trees, both in Japan and in the United States. Yuri himself knew all about spins of different types, the importance of circling in place as much as one could. In theory, the same should apply to winding lights around a tree. He even had the light-up star already settled on the top of the tree, awaiting the rest of the lights. How hard could it be?

The first time he started at the lowest branches, realising about halfway through that he was using most the first strand of lights to cover less than a third of the tree, his looping lines of lights too close together. Then he realised he had the plug on the end he was still wrapping around the tree, and with a huff, he carefully undid his work. The loops of lights pooled on the floor, nudged to the side by his foot as he shuffled around the tree. 

The second time he started at the top, after spending a good five minutes untangling the knots the lights worked themselves into after his first unwinding. He spaced each loop of the light strand around the tree further apart than in his first effort. Smoothing out the kinks in the second strand of lights, Yuri connected it to the one on the tree, then continued winding lights around the evergreen. 

He took a step back, looking the unlit tree over with a sense of critical approval. Plugging it in to see what it would look like lit up in colour was the next step, which was when he discovered a minor detail: the light strand couldn’t reach an outlet.

Yuri spent the next fifteen minutes digging through the spare box of wires and extension cords to find one that would work. Once it was sorted out, he plugged everything in, sitting back on his heels to admire the result.

Until his healing ankle twinged. 

With a yelp, Yuri pushed himself up to his knees with one hand, then up to his feet, carefully rolling his ankle and pressing his foot to the floor to balance on his recovering leg. There was a dull ache at first, but no sharp pains. He breathed through it and imagined himself as an awkward, sweater-wearing flamingo, arms out to his side like wings contemplating flight, one leg firmly planted on the ground, the other one lifted up less gracefully behind him.

From his flamingo pose he regarded the tree, admiring the simple look of the lights. It wasn’t a full display, was nowhere near as impressive as the ones he’d seen a few times in his life, but it was a tree covered in lights, and it was lovely.

He brought his uninjured leg back down after a few minutes, looking toward the side table where the unhung ornaments sat in their boxes. He’d found most of them at local stores in Saint Petersburg, but there was one he’d ordered from overseas, currently wrapped in a box with a neat bow on top. He still wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but he hoped it was.

Shaking off the thoughts starting to intrude, Yuri picked up one of the boxes, bringing the ornaments over to the tree. As far as decorating went, he had no particular plan or style, instead placing ornaments in freely available spaces, varying levels on the tree. The eclectic decor ranged from round glass ornaments to small glittering snowflakes to clear plastic ornaments that looked like spiraling icicles. There was also a glass pickled cucumber which for the life of him he couldn’t remember buying, but whose presence argued he had indeed bought it at some point.

He fiddled with the placement of the ornaments, shifting one higher, lower, further back along a branch, until he felt reasonable okay with the arrangement. This part felt more like Christmas in Detroit, and the sudden surge of nostalgia that accompanied that thought had him breathing in sharp. 

The key jiggled in the door lock behind him at that same moment, and Victor, with his luggage and his tired eyes and tousled hair, stepped inside. He dragged his suitcase in far enough to get the door closed, turning the lock once it latched shut.

“Yuri,” he said, standing in the entryway with his arms open. “ _Tadaima._ ” Yuri moved toward him, gravitating toward him like a meteor crashing into the embrace of the Earth’s atmosphere, slamming into Victor with just enough force to knock him back on his heels. He smelled like snow and faint shampoo and his own sweat and recycled air, which combined tickled Yuri’s nose enough he almost sneezed.

“ _Okaeri_ ,” came out with a huff of laughter following as he buried his lower face against Victor’s shoulder. “Missed you,” he said, hugging him tight. Victor held him just as tight in return, his face turned in to press against Yuri’s hair.

“Missed you too.”

They stayed like that, cleaving to each other, for a few minutes, before Victor lifted his head away. “I should get out of my shoes and freshen up. Have you eaten yet?”

Yuri blinked, pulling his head back to look at Victor. His expression fell into one of shock as he realised all the food he’d intended to make for Victor sat inside the kitchen fridge, uncooked.

“No!”

“No?” Victor tipped his head to the side, concern wrinkling the space between his eyebrows. “That was a little emphatic. When did you last eat?”

“No, that’s not it, I meant to have dinner ready—” Yuri stepped back, hands raised up, fingers curling into his palms like he could take hold of his scattering thoughts and intentions and wrestle them back into place. 

Victor smiled, capturing both of Yuri’s hands between his own. He held them up, pressing a kiss to Yuri’s stilled fingers. He felt rooted in place, a blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks even now, even over something small like this. Yuri swallowed in reflex, licking his lips. The way Victor’s eyes tracked that motion told him a great deal, all filed away in that promising and nebulous time labeled _later_. “Thank you, Yuri. If you don’t mind waiting a little longer, I can take a quick shower and then help?”

“How about you shower and I make you dinner anyway?” He smiled, fingertips curling around Victor’s hands. “After all, it’s your birthday.”

Victor blinked, the soft look he’d been wearing changing into one of mild surprise. “It is, isn’t it?” He looked around himself, as if verifying his reality; then stopped as he properly registered the tree. “When did we get a tree?”

“Today,” he said, giving Victor’s hands another squeeze before gently pulling his hands free. He held off from shuffling his feet or tucking his chin in, fighting against the surge of almost shyness that was hinged on hope for Victor’s approval in this small piece of what he’d wanted to share, in a different, alternate universe. “We didn’t have time last year to set up a New Year tree with how busy everything was, and I know you don’t really celebrate Christmas, but I thought… I thought it’d be nice.”

Victor’s expression was remote, not cold, not disapproving, just… removed. Then he blinked, his mind returning from wherever it had gone, and he smiled, small and warm, eyes on the tree. “It’s beautiful,” he said, almost reverential, and Yuri reached out again without realising. He squeezed Victor’s upper arm, smiling through his own concern. _Was something wrong?_

“Are you sure?”

Victor looked to Yuri, understanding flashing in his eyes. He stepped on the back of one shoe, working one foot free, then repeating the process with his other shoe. He usually dared nothing of the kind, too careful with what he owned to cause unnecessary damage. He stepped forward in his socks, arm sliding around Yuri’s waist and tugging him closer, until their sides touched.

“Absolutely sure. I was surprised in the best way. You keep doing that, did you realise? Surprising me.” His love was a warmth Yuri felt, from the look in Victor’s eyes to the smile on his lips to the tender, firm press of his arm around Yuri’s waist.

“I was kind of hoping for a bigger surprise,” he said, admitting to the ghosts of his disappointments. “Plans changed when everything happened.”

Yuri didn’t have to glance down at his healing ankle for Victor to understand what he meant.

“You are the biggest surprise in my life.” Victor rested his forehead against Yuri’s, locking gazes from that too personal, too close distance, and all he could think was he wanted more of this forever, Victor’s eyes on him, their hearts hopelessly entangled. It made him braver than he was, and while Victor assured him repeatedly he was already brave, and Yuri himself knew it, he still _felt_ braver basking in the warmth of Victor’s love.

Brave enough to bring Victor’s free hand up to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss over the ring that wrapped around one elegant finger. “A good one, I hope,” he said, tugging Victor into following him as he stepped away, shuffling toward the side table and its one small, wrapped package.

“The best one.” Victor said with a laugh, going along with Yuri without complaint. “I can see you have another small surprise ready and waiting. Is this a birthday present?”

Yuri smiled, shaking his head. “No, though I have one of those too. This one’s for Christmas, even though you don’t celebrate. I’d say it was for the New Year, but we have the tree, and… well.” He let go of Victor’s hand and picked up the box, offering it over.

“Well?” Victor accepted it, reluctantly relinquishing Yuri from his one-armed hold to do as he asked. Yuri stood in front of him, trying and failing to stay still, his nervous fidgets of eager anticipation and irrational dread at war in his chest. 

“Well you’ll see. I hope—I hope it’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” Victor said, clever fingers finding the tape holding the wrapping paper in all its reds and gold embossed stars in place. He teased the box out of the beautiful paper, setting it down before using a nail to carefully coax the tab on the box free from the lid. Opening the top, he peered into the tissue paper wrapped interior, careful as he pulled on the loop of gold string resting on top of the white paper. 

The glass globe ornament he lifted out of the box had a single photograph perfectly encased within, floating in the center of its clear sphere. The slight spin of the sphere made the words written on the back dance in Yuri’s vision, but he already knew what it said. Like he already knew what picture Victor saw now: the snapshot of Victor, Yuri, and Makkachin taken by Georgi at the park over the summer, when he and his girlfriend had joined them for a picnic on a free day for all three of them. Makkachin was centered between them, looking right at the camera, Victor and Yuri smiling on either side, holding up a hand each with the v-sign for victory. They looked so incandescently happy, the skies a brilliant, bold blue over their heads.

It felt like everything was unraveling when Yuri glanced from the ornament to Victor’s face, seeing the welling of tears in his eyes. The pit of his stomach dropped out, his hands coming up to try and ward off whatever terrible sadness he’d unleashed in Victor, the apologies already tumbling from his lips.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Victor! I didn’t mean to make you cry with this, I just thought—I’m sorry!”

Victor blinked, two perfect tears rolling down his cheeks. Yet he didn’t frown, didn’t look hurt like he had two years ago sitting in front of a window looking out over the Barcelona night. He smiled, setting the box aside, and took hold of one of Yuri’s distressed hands.

“Yuri, Yuri, it’s okay. I’m okay. This is… I’m happy. I promise, I’m happy.”

Yuri knew what it was to cry out of sheer overload of joy, or for a dozen similar reasons. He’d cried for those reasons himself at some point or another, before and after he’d met Victor Nikiforov, but he’d never seen Victor cry out of happiness. Not even sadness, not exactly. Just that anger when Yuri had thought he’d been doing him the favour they both needed: Yuri to see him skate again, Victor to be freed to follow his heart back out on the ice.

“But you’re crying,” he said, gripping Victor’s hand in return. He couldn’t help himself, lifting his other hand to brush those tears off the point of Victor’s chin, rubbing at the lines of dampness they left over his cheek. 

Victor leaned into his touch. “Yes, I am.”

“You rarely cry.”

His smile was wan, and Victor closed his eyes as he answered. “I learned it rarely helped me feel better. This isn’t like that.” His eyes opened, almost painfully blue. Yuri couldn’t bring himself to look away, thumb stroking over Victor’s cheek, palm cradling his jaw. “It’s beautiful, Yuri. Seeing this, seeing her… that was a wonderful day, wasn’t it?”

Yuri nodded, his eyes burning as a sympathetic grief welled in his throat. He swallowed it down, squeezing Victor’s hand tight, like he’d hugged him earlier. “Yes, it was. I thought… I know we don’t have a shrine here, and this isn’t the same, but it felt right to have her here in some way.” 

He’d been struck by the thought when he realised how many photographs they had in digital form, and how few they had printed or hung around the flat. He’d realised they didn’t even have one of each other properly hanging. He’d fixed that, along with framing their copy of the photograph they’d taken with his family, Yuri Plisetsky and the Nishigori’s when he’d flown out to Hasetsu tracking Victor down. Victor had simply seen both photographs and kissed Yuri’s temple, telling him he had a knack for making their space feel more like home.

Victor looped the ornament string over his index finger, cupping his hand over Yuri’s, ornament dangling safely below. He turned his face, pressing a kiss to the heel of Yuri’s hand, giving him a look of such profound love and affection, the lump he’d swallowed down came back in a rush.

“Thank you. For being here, and for thinking of what I couldn’t.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks too, and then they were hugging, Victor’s laughter a soft sound by Yuri’s head, his own half-laugh, half-sob muffled against his arm. “Of course,” he said, arms wrapped around Victor’s neck, crushing him close. “I love you. I’ll be here, in every way I can. Always.”

They stayed like that for a while, Yuri’s heart calming, Victor’s breathing a steady, wonderful sound. Yuri was the first to speak again, pressing a kiss to Victor’s cheek as he pulled his head back to get a look at his face. “Ready to hang it up?” 

Victor’s lashes were rimmed with salt, the unfair part being how little redness or puffiness was in evidence. Victor simply nodded, offering Yuri a small, sincere smile.

“Help me decide where?”

“Always.”

In the end, they found a home for the ornament with all three of them caught in a summer’s brilliant embrace at eye level, between a globe of silver and a globe of gold. On the back, the word _family_ faced the heartwood. When they stepped back, Yuri slid an arm around Victor’s waist, Victor slipping an arm around the back of his shoulders.

“Beautiful,” Victor said again, voice soft and warm.

“Yeah,” Yuri said, feeling for the first time it was really true. The bright, multi-colour lights illuminating the ornaments from above, the sides, below; the fresh scent of the tree permeating the room; the portrait of their family staring out at them with love. These were all beautiful things.

“Happy birthday,” he said, leaning his head against Victor’s shoulder, feeling Victor rest his head against the top of Yuri’s in turn.

“Thank you. I’m glad I got to celebrate this one with you.”

Victor’s stomach rumbled, leaving both of them silent for a heartbeat. Yuri laughed first, lifting his head once the weight of Victor’s head was removed from his. “So am I, but let’s feed you too, okay? Take a shower like you were wanting and I’ll get your birthday dinner started.”

“Mm. What are you making?” Victor said, hand stroking down Yuri’s back as he started moving away.

Yuri flashed him a grin, the first but not last one of the evening. He lifted a finger to his lips and winked. “It’s a surprise.”

Victor’s laughter followed him into the kitchen, curling around his heart long after he disappeared into the bedroom with his luggage. Yuri knew with a certainty he rarely allowed himself that he would take Victor into his arms and spend the night filling him with the warmth of his appreciation and love until they curled up, side by side, and drifted into dreams filled with light.


End file.
